There is no music other than the sound of waiting
no time other than the memory of a note
unheard.
Because she’s barefoot, naked like the room’s walls
in his rainy-day vision, not much can happen to them
behind the veil of his imagination
“nothing can happen”
words of a mantra lost in the stomach of a Sunday afternoon
half exhausted, he is, half staggered by the rageless cycle
unending.
She stands, then sits on a chinese brocade bedspread
legs crossed, dry knees, hair
undone.
From one room to another, one roof to the other
from one CD track to an other, the afternoon jumps
and the bare sound of waiting can be caught
just in-between, a rainy-day vision of her, a gift
unwrapped
unveiled
and gone, between two routine words typed
the quick hypodermic needle, unawarely effective
a sharp note unheard.
Axilea, the journey of relationships from interest, to active engagement, romance, love and passion is an uncharted journey of the heart -- the only mysteries in the end are what the next unopened door may pose as an opportunity for failure or continued success -- as with all human emotions there is, thankfully, no cookbook for love -- excitement and rushes always succeeded by times of uncertainty and emotional tumbleweeds adrift on the whimsy of human impulses -- this is a delectable metaphor and a philosophical exercise in need and commitments dangling with the sharp puncture of reality and its disappointments -- I love this work and shall reread it often -- may joy be the horse you ride of the road of contentment my friend -- Jon Michael
Marvelous. "words of a mantra lost in the stomach of a Sunday afternoon"... you capture the moment very well. This is what I call a "Blakean" write(meaning like William Blake). He really believed that in order to write a poem well, you needed to intensely visualize a scene, and then write what you see. He was very much the introvert, but I find his poetry fascinating. If you were to read "Little Lamb Who Made Thee" and "Tiger, Tiger, Shining Bright" back-to-back, you'd see what I mean. The same poet so intensely naive-like and dark and leering. I really like him, but back to your poem...
That last line and it's twin are incredibly descriptive. But unlike Blake, it's not so much visual as it is an emotional re-living of the moment. I'm afraid of needles-- my veins don't like them-- anyways, as a reader, I feel that unheard prick-- a very high pitched scream it would be too, if only my veins could sing. --Charlie
Axilea, what a marvelous--captivating--writer you are.
From one room to another, one roof to the other
from one CD track to an other, the afternoon jumps
and the bare sound of waiting can be caught
just in-between, a rainy-day vision of her, a gift
unwrapped
unveiled
and gone....
Tragic ending to a breathless write, waiting for the unknown to the reader. Weaved images take one on a journey to waiting for the prick of a needle and oblivion. Brilliant. Liz
My new absolute favourite of yours, Axilea, for so many reasons. So visual, so clever in it's twining of thought, image and metaphor. Another fine example of poetries I truly admire which scratch, stimulate and sedate... all in the right order! :)) The sound of the spiked tuning fork rather than the rounded om here, I think. xx
Your opening lines, Axilea, bring to mind Wallace Stevens' 'Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird' and, too, those pauses, deliberate holding of notes, in a Mozart sonata...suspension and anticipation as one...
and the rest is a journey through the tangle of relationships, a deeply felt and understood journey.
John
Reviewed by Branch Isole (Reader)
Reviewed on December 3, 2010
Axilea,
The tone in this piece flows as smoothly as the contents of the glass ship being described.
BEFORE DARKNESS FALLS Retails for 14.95 / but you can have it now for only 11.95 This is a book of poetry and prose that deals with real life issues that all of mankind comes to face. Some of the poems deal with the tenderness of love, while others s
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That last line and it's twin are incredibly descriptive. But unlike Blake, it's not so much visual as it is an emotional re-living of the moment. I'm afraid of needles-- my veins don't like them-- anyways, as a reader, I feel that unheard prick-- a very high pitched scream it would be too, if only my veins could sing. --Charlie
The imagery and feel is more than powerful, it is a story with an intoxicating atmosphere. Superb!
From one room to another, one roof to the other
from one CD track to an other, the afternoon jumps
and the bare sound of waiting can be caught
just in-between, a rainy-day vision of her, a gift
unwrapped
unveiled
and gone....
Did I say captivating? -gene.
God bless,
Lew
and the rest is a journey through the tangle of relationships, a deeply felt and understood journey.
John
The tone in this piece flows as smoothly as the contents of the glass ship being described.
Be always safe,
Karen
This is really great!
Mary
Blessings,
Christine
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